


Sunday Afternoon

by shadhahvar



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Cleaning up with tongue and having some mild immediate regrets, Gotta Love Lubricant, Intercrural Sex, Interrupted Blow Jobs, Look but Don't Touch, M/M, Sex is always Very Serious, Sometimes you've just gotta come all over your lover's stomach and chest, Suddenly Tickling, Swallowing without commentary, There are no good onomatopoeia for half this I'm sorry insert your own noises, clean up, everything ends in cuddles, take nothing seriously and we'll all be fine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-04 12:16:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10990779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadhahvar/pseuds/shadhahvar
Summary: “Who said,” he asks, bracing a foot before he rolls them both over with a grunt, now on top of Victor, pressed chest to chest, “That I’m not in the mood?”He pushes himself up, legs on either side of Victor, sitting back to rest light on top of Victor’s thighs.  Victor’s eyes are wide, bright in the warm afternoon light.  He’s beautiful.  Yuri places a hand on Victor’s breastbone, pressing his palm flat, fingers splayed.  He believes he can feel Victor’s heart beating; he can see his pulse racing there at his neck.  There’s a moment of uncertainty, where the lowered lashes and biting of his lip turns into opened eyes and brief concern.“Are you?”





	Sunday Afternoon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vagrancing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vagrancing/gifts).



He feels him, and oh, he _feels_ fingertips trailing up the inside of his leg, flirting with the back of his knees. Feels the gentle bite of well groomed fingernails as Victor traces geometric patterns as his hands go higher, the kisses he presses to Yuri’s inner thigh provoking a gasp, a shudder. He feels gooseflesh cascade over his shoulders, down his arms, his back, his chest. Feels his nipples tighten into what should have been embarrassing buds as Victor’s lips part; watches Victor’s tongue flicking out to wet them, and then press down again, tracing closer to his core, misleadingly chaste. 

Yuri’s toes curl against the floor as Victor’s clever fingers skate up his inner thigh, burning trails across his skin. He feels the steady hum of his arousal building, feels himself growing more erect with every brush of skin on skin, swallowing his own answering hum, a moan that doesn’t quite escape his lips.

Victor’s touch is as addictive as the weight of his gaze. Yuri’s eyes slit open, glancing down to Victor, locking gazes as his fingers twist into the comforter underneath him. He opens his mouth, breathes in, feeling a powerful mixture of overwhelming affection and heady _want_. He doesn’t know how they ended up here. What happy accident of fate had flowed from losses and self-doubt to inebriation and declarations to failures and the desire to rise up again.

 _In more way than one_ , he thinks, and he laughs, a soft huff of sound before reaching out to card his fingers through Victor’s hair. Victor rests his chin on Yuri’s leg, fingers brushing against his scrotum. Yuri breathes in sharp. “Hm?”

Yuri shakes his head, eyes softening. His blush doesn’t feel so hot when the rest of him is this heated. “Just amazed by you,” he says, and Victor smiles, lifting his chin and pressing a kiss to Yuri’s stomach. His fingers form a loose ring around the base of Yuri’s dick, lingering.

“You say the sweetest things,” Victor says, closing his eyes at Yuri’s hand on his cheek, his thumb brushing over Victor’s cheekbone. Victor moves the ring of his fingers, a coaxing slide forward. His other hand comes up to press against Yuri’s, turning his face to kiss his palm. “I could listen to you talk all night.” 

“Just talk?” he says, breathing out in a soft laugh, more than half hard in Victor’s hand.

“Maybe not just,” Victor admits, slowly, steadily coaxing Yuri erect. He shifts enough to drop down and press his lips to the head of his penis. Sweet and chaste and _hot_. Yuri breathes in sharp. Victor’s eyes flick up, smiling like his lips do. “But it’s a nice start.”

There’s no need for words. Coherent though flees when Victor’s lips part, hot breath and warm tongue brushing over his glans, then the slick heat as he’s taken into Victor’s mouth. Victor’s hand falls away, reaching for Yuri, palm settling on his thigh, squeezing, anchoring. “ _Oh_ ,” Yuri says, gasps, really, and he can feel a noise like laughter rumble through Victor’s mouth, and his breath catches in his throat. “ _Oh_.”

His fingers trace down Victor’s face while Victor’s fingers break their ring, sliding lower, cradling his scrotum. Yuri shivers, grabbing hold of Victor’s shoulder, resisting the urge to roll his hips as Victor takes more of his length into his mouth, pressing down; then pulling back, sucking, tongue as delicious and firm and implacable as Victor always is. Yuri breathes open mouthed, feeling his flush stain lower on his chest, feeling the pleasure of his arousal pulsing through his core. His toes curl again, and when Victor nudges his thighs a little further apart, Yuri complies with a shudder, rolling up without thinking, pressing himself into Victor’s mouth, wanting, _craving_ more.

He goes still with a sharp breath in, saying, “I’m sorry,” and being met with a stroke down his inner thigh, the light press of nails against his scrotal sack, and oh, he knows, he _knows_ he’s forgiven. But he wants to do better, wants this control too, and so his fingers dig into the covers and into Victor’s shoulder and he twitches, but does not jerk, as Victor carries on. 

He wonders if he should find it embarrassing as he looks down, not needing the clarity of detail to know the expression on Victor’s face or the moments his too blue eyes lock with his own. If he should look away, but he doesn’t want to; finds a sort of thrill when they’re gazing into each other’s eyes in those brief moments that Victor takes to change angles or swirling his tongue around Yuri’s head and swallow the saliva trying to drip down his chin. Yuri doesn’t want Victor looking away. _He_ doesn’t want to look away. In everything, he’d once thought, and now finds it true. He wants Victor’s eyes on him even with this.

He wants many things: to run his hand through Victor’s hair and take hold; to pull Victor up for a thousand little kisses and a few hundred deep ones too; to watch Victor’s face when he comes; to hold him close and never let go. The urge to card his fingers through Victor’s still damp hair becomes a whim he’s already acting on before he realises. Only should he? Yuri’s hand hesitates, watching Victor with his closed eyes and the hum in his throat that’s driving Yuri senseless, and he doesn’t know. Should, would, could. He _could_. His hand hovers, and he sees that whorl on Victor’s head, and while he hasn’t yet decided if he should do one of so many things, he acts on another impulse.

He pokes that whorl of hair. Like he’s done before for different reasons, and will doubtlessly do again. It’s too hard, that press, because his hand had felt too heavy and the impulse had caught him by the same surprise Victor provoked with the back of his nails stroking along his perineum. Victor’s eyes open, blinking; he lifts his head, brings his hand around and strokes up Yuri’s length as he swallows. Licks his lips, and gazes up into Yuri’s vaguely mortified expression.

“Yuri?”

He finger hangs there in the air between them, mouth opening to explain, finding no words. He smiles, suddenly bashful, a little sheepish, a little feeling like he’s just messed everything up. It’s an ache that starts to expand, a worry that’s at war with endorphins, and it’s almost like Victor sees it. He leans in and kisses Yuri’s stomach below his navel. “Yuri.” Dips his tongue into his belly button, then nuzzles his face there, lightly ticklish. Yuri makes a small noise of protest, finds a word: “Victor!”

Victor smiles. His hand strokes up Yuri’s length once more, Victor rising from his knees, other hand sliding up Yuri’s side, and then all of him is rising, sliding, one hand at Yuri’s back, the other hooking under his leg. Victor tumbles them both back in a gentle bounce of bodies and limbs, Yuri protesting with a surprise sound, morphing into laughter as Victor begins to pepper kisses over his chest, his collarbone, his neck. “Yuri,” he says, and that’s all he says, again and again, until he’s moved himself up and cups Yuri’s cheek. He leans in to kiss the point of his chin, and then his lips, slow and deliberate. There’s desire there too, a banked heat beyond the press of Victor’s erection at his thigh. He’s wanted. It doesn’t cut away the worry, but it helps.

He kisses back, hands stroking over Victor’s shoulders, down his back. Tracing the contours of muscle and sinew and bone and the skin that lays over it all, and sliding up against him, looking for a little friction. Finding it, and then as abruptly finding Victor brushing sweat and bath dampened bangs off Yuri’s forehead. Looking into his eyes from centimeters away. “It’s okay if you’re not in the mood, you know. We can cuddle.” 

Yuri blinks up at him, brow furrowing, for a moment even frowning in that momentary confusion. Yes, the mood had shifted, but… _oh_. He lowers his lashes, peering through them at Victor, and he smiles. Smiles and shifts his hand to Victor’s shoulder, brings his other elbow down to brace against the mattress. Victor cares, and Yuri knows that, and while Victor may not always understand what’s going through Yuri’s head, he tries. He gets things right more often than he doesn’t these days.

He got this one wrong, and it’s sweet. Yuri feels affection burn hot in his chest, and he kisses Victor, first light and lingering, then deep, demanding.

“Who said,” he asks, bracing a foot before he rolls them both over with a grunt, now on top of Victor, pressed chest to chest, “That I’m not in the mood?”

He pushes himself up, legs on either side of Victor, sitting back to rest light on top of Victor’s thighs. Victor’s eyes are wide, bright in the warm afternoon light. He’s beautiful. Yuri places a hand on Victor’s breastbone, pressing his palm flat, fingers splayed. He believes he can feel Victor’s heart beating; he can see his pulse racing there at his neck. There’s a moment of uncertainty, where the lowered lashes and biting of his lip turns into opened eyes and brief concern.

“Are you?”

And Victor laughs, reaching out and running one hand up Yuri’s arm; nods his head several times, eager, playful, simple, and flushed now, across his face, down his neck, over his chest. “Yes,” he says, “Oh, Yuri, _yes_ , you beautiful fool _._ ”

His lips twist up at the endearment, but he shakes his head and clucks his tongue. “Not a fool,” he says, and while he doesn’t manage to pout like Victor would saying the same thing, he does lower his lashes again, does bite down on his lower lip and drags his hand lower, toward Victor’s navel. “Not today.”

Victor nods to that too, hand falling away, eyes dropping down to watch Yuri’s hand move lower, lower. The muscles of his abdomen tighten under Yuri’s hand, skin breaking out in gooseflesh that tightens the skin of his nipples into buds, that twitches his erection against Yuri’s inner thigh. Yuri smiles, eyes taking Victor in, a slow, deliberate savouring of the man he loves.

“You paint a pretty picture like this, underneath me.” His fingers dance past Victor’s navel, circling around his belly button once, dragging lower. Victor’s breath catches; he breathes out in a soft, strained huff of amusement. His lashes lower and his voice drops, a murmur and invitation as he watches Yuri’s hand move.

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” He swallows, thick in his throat. But he does know, and the knowledge is bright in his eyes; it hardly matters these day except that Yuri believes. “I feel like a blank canvas,” he says, running his own fingers across his chest, tracing aimless patterns. Tapping his fingers on his skin as he continues, “Waiting for an artist to come sign me.”

Yuri catches the implication, eyes widening, licking his lips as he leans forward. “On you?” He asks, letting it be a question, his eyes burning brighter, darker with desire. He brushes his fingers over Victor’s erection, then trails his fingers up his own thigh. 

Victor nods, licks his own lips, even smiles. It’s soft and seductive, short lived because desire makes him look up and focus on Yuri’s face. His beautiful, questioning expression, and the glint of determination that transforms it as Victor speaks. “On me.” He turns his hand, running his fingers along the curve of his neck, to his shoulder, back in and down his breastbone. “Paint me with you.”

Desire spikes through Yuri, an ache and a want that leaves him groaning in the back of his throat as he leans down, kissing Victor hard. Victor arches underneath him, arms winding around his neck, hips rocking forward and up for any friction, any stimulation at all. He doesn’t need it, not directly. He still loves it.

Yuri knows this. He breathes out his, “ _Yes_ ,” by Victor’s ear, and nuzzles in, lipping at his earlobe. “Hands over your head?” becomes both a question and a promise. Victor inhales sharply, pupils dilating. Yuri’s close enough to see. Victor nods, lifts his hands, wraps the fingers of one around the wrist of the other. Supporting himself on hands and knees, Yuri takes the time to thank Victor, to praise Victor, to spend a thousand little moments running one hand down his side, between them, then up, up, up, over Victor’s chest, over his shoulder, along his arm, finding his unoccupied hand and interlacing their fingers.

Yuri kisses Victor with the heat of his need, gives his hand a squeeze, then sits up, letting go. Hearing Victor’s quiet noise of protest, and pressing one soft finger to Victor’s lips. There’s lubricant in its innocuous bottle so close to them both now. Yuri leans over, fingers curling around it, feeling his heart pound fast and hard in the cage of his chest. He maintains their eye contact the whole time. Recenters himself over Victor and speaks.

“Watch me,” he says, he asks, he commands, “Without touching. Don’t look away.”

Victor’s mouth stays open, chest heaving in one shaky breath, and he nods. Bites down on his tongue, from how his moan sounds strangled and wanting, as Yuri sits back and settles carefully on Victor’s upper thighs. They touch where Yuri’s legs press against Victor’s; they touch where he sits on Victor’s thighs. But he doesn’t deliberately touch Victor. Yuri lifts himself to be sitting properly on his heels, and there’s the warmth of space between them, not quite touching; not far enough away for a chill to creep in.

He feels Victor watch as he pours lubricant into his hand. Lifts his eyes to lock gazes with this adoring paragon of a man, five time world champion, Olympic gold medalist, who looks back with love and wonder and unmistakable desire. He watches Victor shiver as Yuri traces his own lips with one finger. Watches him bite down on his lip as Yuri’s hand slides over his own erection, down, then up. Hears him groan in the back of his throat as Yuri’s index finger slides between his lips and he sucks, making a low noise of pleasure he feels vibrating through his throat and mouth.

It’s a show, then; Yuri traces the curve of his neck with elegant fingers, drags nails diagonally across his chest, leaving white and reddened trails in their wake. Gasps when he licks the pad of his thumb and passes it over his nipple, bites down on his lip and chokes out a moan as he pinches the raised bud. It’s electric, his arousal, intoxicating what this effect of having Victor’s focused attention on him does, where Victor watches and does not, is not, allowed to reach out. Not yet. Yuri will devour that touch too, but right now, this is his seduction. This is his hand stroking up and down his dick, going slower than he really wants, trying to draw himself out. Victor had him so keyed up earlier he’s almost too ready now, but he’s stubborn. He will come on his own terms and nothing less.

It’s when his free hand comes up to shove his bangs off his forehead, fingers buried in his hair, biting at his scalp, that Victor comes undone. Yuri’s arching his back, head tipped toward the ceiling, sunlight cutting across too-warm flesh and outlining him in a golden halo as Victor cries out: “Yuri, _please_.” His eyes slit open, his head canting to the side and looking to Victor, seeing the flush of Victor’s skin, the way he seems undone and unfocused, how his hand holding nothing has fisted in an effort not to reach out. Victor squirms beneath him, still watching, always watching, and Yuri makes his decision: leans forward and reaches out, tangling their fingers again as they clutch hands, holding on to each other. 

“Victor _u, ah_ , hah, _I_ ,” isn’t much of a sentence, but it’s what Yuri manages while poised over Victor, stroking his length faster and faster and _harder_ , thrusting into his own grip. 

“ _Please_ ,” Victor says again, and Yuri pants and groans and leans his head down and presses a kiss to Victor’s shoulder, tasting sweat against his lips, and he wonders why. 

“ _Yes_ ,” is all Yuri manages around a groan as he feels himself reaching that brink, pleasure built up and up and teasing at the edge before he orgasms. Victor moans at the sight of him, flushed, pupils blown, weighing Victor’s hands down still, back arching. He hears the moment Yuri pushes past his limit, from the drawn out moan to the way he stiffens and jolts, coming in spurts, shuddering with each one. Yuri’s eyes slide open in the aftermath, feeling boneless and staying propped up through sheer stubborn-mindedness, even sitting back. He pulls Victor’s hand along with him, refusing this time to let go. Yuri doesn’t deny the mingled sense of satisfaction and embarrassment that he feels when his eyes drift down over Victor’s chest, the lines and splatters of his come there.

“Oh,” he breathes out, reaching to swipe his thumb over a splatter as high as the hollow of Victor’s throat. Victor smiles, and Yuri swallows, feeling himself blush. He slides himself back, levering up with his elbows. Looks down his front and reaches out, too, dragging one finger through a line of come. 

“What a lovely mess,” he says, bringing his finger to his mouth and sliding it between his lips, cleaning it off. Victor reaches out and curls his hand around the back of Yuri’s neck, tugging him closer, kissing him long and hungry. Yuri’s hands find Victor’s hair, brushing back through it and cradling the back of his head, kissing him back. He pulls away, peppers kisses across Victor’s cheeks, his jaw, to the tip of his nose.

“We should get you cleaned up,” he says, and Victor sighs his agreement, hand sliding from Yuri’s neck to his shoulder. He flops back on the bed, watching Yuri through lowered lashes. 

“You should,” he agrees, lips curling up into a lazy, affectionate grin. He’s joking, and Yuri knows it, but as Victor moves to turn on his side and reach for the wipes on the sill, Yuri halts his progress. Presses Victor firmly back against the bed, meeting the elegant quirk of his eyebrows up in silent question with a deliberate lick of his lips. Victor breathes in sharp, eyes widening as Yuri moves off straddling Victor, nudging a knee between his thighs. “Yuri, you don’t need —”

He kisses Victor’s navel, then licks up Victor’s abdomen in a long line. He’s not sure this is pleasant, is suddenly deeply unsure Victor will even like this, but that’s laid to rest when Victor bends his knee and grabs on to the comforter, breathing hard.

“— to do that,” Victor says at last, and Yuri laughs after he swallows. Decides this isn’t his favourite thing, but it’s worth it this once, at least, for the way Victor looks at him, surprised and so incredibly turned on. 

“I know,” he says, and he raises up, kisses Victor again, gentle, lingering. “Let me take care of you.”

He feels Victor’s fingers running through his short, messy mop of hair, damp from sweat more than his shower now. Hears Victor breathe in, breath hitching, then exhaling, not quite steady. “Okay,” he says, as Yuri pulls his head back, studying Victor’s face from close enough to see the way he looks back up at Yuri. Ineffably fond, aroused, wondering. Amazed.

He wants Victor to look at him like that for as long as he can have him. Forever, if only forever is real. He kisses him with a tenderness that takes even Yuri by surprise, levering up, reaching out to the side to find the wipes. He teases one out, then another, kissing Victor’s face, his neck, his shoulder before he wipes him clean in slow, steady passes of his hand over the planes of Victor’s stomach, over his chest. “You’re beautiful,” Yuri confesses, and Victor tangles both his hands in Yuri’s hair, waiting for Yuri to meet his gaze.

“So are you,” Victor says, and there’s a touch of reverence there. Yuri still doesn’t know why, really, doesn’t understand how Victor could see this better flawed version of Yuri Katsuki when he looks his way, but he believes it more today than he did yesterday, and he’ll believe it more tomorrow than today. He tosses the wipes to the side, dipping down to kiss Victor long and lingering and sweet while his hand slides across the comforter. Blindly locates the lubricant, fingers curling around the bottle. Pulls back enough to fumble off the cap, pouring it out into his other hand. Reaching down to run his hand between his thighs, judging it slick enough. Especially as he pours more lubricant, this time reaching down to stroke his hand over Victor’s length, coaxing his erection full again. Victor’s fingers keep stroking through Yuri’s hair, eyes locked on his face, mouth pleasantly distracting, lips kiss-swollen and inviting.

Yuri kisses him again, swallowing his moan, letting Victor grind up against his hand. He’s gentle and firm when he guides Victor's arousal lower, shifting himself forward until he has him lined up between his thighs. Lowers himself and locks one foot around the back of the other, settling his weight on Victor. 

Victor’s hands moved from Yuri’s hair to cup the sides of his face. He kisses him, deep and happy, before his hands slide away under Yuri’s shoulders, wrapping around to hold his back, anchoring them together. Yuri’s arms side under Victor’s shoulders, kissing his lips, then trailing off the side of his cheek, his jaw, to his ear. Nibbling at the lobe of his ear, feeling Victor rock his hips up with a gasp at the touch of teeth. Repeats the experiment, gratified at Victor’s moan, muffled and buried against the side of Yuri’s neck. 

“Yuri,” Victor says, and it’s half moan, half plead. Their lovemaking is slow, unhurried, a study in Yuri driving Victor mad with a clench of his thighs, the grazing of teeth against the side of his neck. Gentle brushes of his lips and a mapping of every small intake of air, every hitch in his breathing. The moment where Yuri decides he wants to leave a more visible mark, a more obvious signature, when he sucks on Victor’s skin at the nape of his neck with teeth and intent, leads to Victor pressing up against him, a full body buck and tightening of arms around him.

“Oh god, _Yuri,_ ” he says, laughing with an almost desperate touch to his tone, “You —” Only he doesn’t know how to end that sentence, driven past coherent words. Rocks his hips with each thrust, the bliss of that slick, heady pressure around his dick, being between Yuri’s incredible thighs, feeling the twitch of Yuri’s sensitive half erection against his stomach, everything just shy of overwhelming. His chest feels like it’s expanding, choking on emotion, but captured by the steady reassurance of Yuri’s weight and his touch and his shivers and moans and the way he says, once, on his second hickey, “ _You’re mine._ ”

And Victor nods as he moans, eyes fluttering closed, thrusting up, and says, “Always.” Says, “Kiss me,” and Yuri does, feeling the way Victor rocks beneath him, feeling the moment Victor’s toes curl, shuddering and jerking up, unable to silence his moan and mangled, " _Yuri_ ,” like he’s asking for absolution and thinks he can find it, improbably enough, in Yuri’s arms, between his thighs, anywhere with him.

Yuri holds him through his orgasm, kissing the side of his face, claiming his mouth once he goes slack underneath him. Riding out that immediate lassitude with Victor, until Victor is stroking one hand down Yuri’s back. Blinking as tears fall, emotionally overwhelmed, so happy, so loving, so loved. He strokes his thumb over Yuri’s cheek, and Yuri leans in, kissing at the trails of tears falling from Victor’s eyes.

“I love you,” he says, and Victor smiles, clears his throat, laughs. Says, “I love you too.” Then pats his shoulder, Yuri rolling off to the side and staying close, arms still around Victor. Victor takes a few seconds to nuzzle against his neck and cuddle close before he finishes rolling them over, resting on Yuri for one heartbeat, then two. Kissing his mouth, his nose, his forehead, and shifting off until he can reach out and find those wipes for himself.

“Let me take care of you,” he says, and he smiles, knowing Yuri hears the parroting and echo of his own words. He blushes, bites down on his lower lip, but he nods, knows they’ll both be showering after all this. It’s a courtesy along the way, but it feels like more, Victor sitting back and asking Yuri’s legs to bend, kissing the inside of his knee. Cleaning the back of his thighs with slow, sure motions, reverential. Running his cloth over Yuri’s inner thighs, up to his apex, gentle. Tossing everything to the side and leaning over again, pulling open a drawer and finding the soft hand towel tucked inside. Wetting it with the water at the bedside, and returning to Yuri; feeling his eyes on him the whole time, hearing him gasp and squirm as Victor runs the damp cloth over his dick. Rinsing at room temperature, then setting the cloth to the side.

“Legs up,” he says, and he’s asking, running his hands along the back of Yuri’s thighs, coaxing them up and back. Pushing further, tipping his pelvis back, and then Victor kneels, two fingers pressing against the base of Yuri’s erection. Pointing it back toward him, lowering his head and opening his mouth. Taking Yuri in, swirling his tongue around his head. Yuri groaning, throwing his head back. 

His legs start to fall, and Victor gently, firmly pushes them back up; Yuri reaches out, one hand raking fingers through Victor’s hair as his head moves, down and up, shuddering as he pants, more sensitive now than he had been earlier. His other hand clutches at the comforter, fingers curling in, looking for a hold. Victor’s hand finds his, fingers lacing, holding his arm out to the side. Anchoring him there even as Yuri is so firmly anchored in his body by sensation. His shoulders press back into the mattress as he closes his eyes, sensations rolling over him, carrying him on. The warmth and heat and way Victor works him over with his mouth leaves him moaning, his turn to ask _please_ and breath out _yes_ , yes, like that, yes, keep going, yes, don’t stop. Don’t stop.

He doesn’t know when he goes from resting his hand against Victor’s head to fisting his hand in his hair, but when he realises, he tries to let go, tries to apologise. Victor reaches up with his free hand pressing over Yuri’s. “You’re fine,” he says, pulling his head back off Yuri and swallowing saliva. “It’s fine. You can do this,” and it’s permission for his hand, and it’s permission after a questing, desperate glance as he encourages Victor to move faster: meets Victor’s eyes, and thinks he may well be consumed in the heat of this fire that Victor’s turning back on him now. 

Victor squeezes their joined hands, reassuring and encouraging, bringing his free hand down to caress his scrotum. Brings more of Yuri into his mouth, and off again, and the sliding sensation, his inability to really thrust up, his ability to encourage and guide Victor’s speed with the hand curled into his silver hair, it’s overwhelming. “Please, Victor,” he says, breathless, “Don’t stop, I, oh,” and he moans, cries out in implacable pleasure as Victor brings him to the edge, then relentlessly pushes him over. Sends Yuri tumbling for the second time that afternoon, and holds on to his hand, braces as Yuri’s legs come down and rest across his shoulders, toes curled, back arching, jerking once, twice. Shuddering in the aftermath as Victor finally pulls his mouth off, swallowing without comment. Stroking his fingers along Yuri’s lingering erection, sending a spasm through Yuri; so much, too much. “Victor,” he asks, and Victor kisses his inner thigh, squeezes his hand, and says, “I’m here.”

They untangle their hands, golden light glinting off a golden ring, and Victor ducks under Yuri’s legs, snuggles up against his side. Pulls Yuri close and kisses his nose, his eyelids, his forehead, to Yuri’s disgruntled, laughing protests. The lassitude settles on him heavily, sated and aching and sensitive enough that the brush against Victor’s thigh is almost too much. It’s worth it to lay chest to chest, legs entwined. Soon enough they’ll stir and head to the shower, clean up and rinse off and pull on all the right clothes. Re-engage with the world, head to dinner, but not yet.

Right now, their world is the still, lazy heat of exhaustion and an afternoon’s golden light; their world is wrapped up and contained in each other’s arms. It is the way they feel spent and fulfilled and aching; the way they lean in to rest their foreheads together. The way Yuri runs his thumb over Victor’s hair, smiling soft and warm and sated. The way Victor’s hand slides down Yuri’s side to rest at his hip, thumb stroking over skin, meditative. 

For a moment in time, they need nothing more than this: this life and the happy chance that has turned into something beautiful and compelling, more than bodies, more than hearts, more than souls. They find these moments in so many places; at dinners, on the ice, out grocery shopping when their hands brush and they both smile, unable to stop themselves.

They call everything on the ice love. 

_And_ , Yuri supposes, pressing a kiss to Victor’s fingers over the gold ring that charms Yuri as much as it is a charm for him, _we call everything off the ice love, too._

**Author's Note:**

> This was absolutely ridiculous and hopefully amusing for you all! A brief completely unrelated canon compliant one shot inbetween chapters that I'm working on for _The Blue Rose_. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


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